


Hurt

by redwoodroots



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Happy ending though, Hurt/Comfort, look i made two new supernatural creatures!, one of them is venomous, prepare to suffah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: Stan and Ford go adventuring together in the mountains around Gravity Falls, when Ford encounters a nest of supernatural creatures.





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> for PurplePumpkin, from Redwoodroots
> 
> MERRY HOLIDAYS AND ENJOY THE HURT!!! With some comfort too but LOTS OF HURT!

“Agh...”

Stan looked over the edge of the cliff. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just don't drop me.” 

“I ain't gonna, keep your pants on.” 

Ford continued to rapel down the sheer wall on the side of the mountain. He must have stepped oddly for his left ankle to twinge like that. This high up, his feet barely skimmed the treetops, and it was about a twenty-foot drop to the next ledge down. That was why he'd had to bring Stan – there was a horizontal crevice in the rock where he was sure a flamingopher had made its nest, and he wanted to rapel down to it to take notes and pictures. 

“Hurry up, will ya?” Stan asked, eying the sky. “I don't like the look of those storm clouds.” 

“Just a few more minutes, Stanley.” Ford gripped the rope and carefully lowered himself, this time bracing with his right foot instead of his left. He hoped he hadn't sprained it, although it didn't feel much like a sprain. 

_I suppose it's about time I felt the aches and pains of old age_ , Ford thought wryly. His brother certainly complained about his joints on a regular basis. 

He reached the mouth of the cave and signaled for Stan to stop. Then he took a penlight from his pocket and shone it inside. 

Instantly six or seven creatures shot out, too fast to see. He reacted instantly, landing a solid punch on the one that went for his face and kicking hard so he swung out into the open air. The creatures clung to the sheer rock face, hissing and spitting, even as more of them slithered out of the opening. They were each four feet long, thick as his wrist, with scales the color of copper pennies. Their eyes were pure black and Ford could see himself reflected in them, twisting as the rope swung him like a pendulum back to the lair. 

“Sixer!” Stan shouted. “Are you okay? What are those things?” 

“Helicopperheads! Pull me up!” 

Stan yanked so hard Ford grunted as the air left his lungs. He hit the rock and kicked off hard with his right foot before the snakes could strike, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the nest. 

Unfortunately, the snakes were not keen to let him get away. They coiled their bodies like springs, unfurled silvery wings from their backs, and launched. 

“AAGH!” Stan yelled. “FLYING SNAKES! OF COURSE THERE ARE FLYING SNAKES! WHY NOT?!” 

“Just keep pulling!” Ford grabbed a squirtgun full of liquified silver from his pack and swung it hard, smacking two of the snakes in the face and stunning them. More buzzed around his head, but he was swinging so erratically they hadn't yet managed to strike. He aimed and sprayed in quick succession. The snakes hissed, drenched with the metal, and began long, slow, dazed spirals down to the ground below. 

“Hah, it worked!”

Stanley was still pulling him up. 

“Stan, wait! Lower me down again!” 

“What?! You _just said_ –”

“The silver confuses them and I need to spray the rest before they wake up and come after us!” 

Stan growled but lowered Ford quickly. He sprayed the inside of the cave as thoroughly as he could, using nearly all of the silver, then motioned Stan to pull him back up. Stan was clearly tiring, but he grabbed Ford by the front of his sweater and managed to pull him the last few feet. The two of them lay on the ledge, panting. 

“Well,” Stan grunt. “That was...agh...” 

“It's too bad we – didn't get a venom sample,” Ford managed. 

Stan rolled over and scowled at him. “Geez, Sixer, who do you think you are, Ohio Jones?!”

Ford tried to retort, but he was too busy trying to catch his breath. _That's odd. I exerted myself much more than this yesterday, escaping that swarm of spelling bees, and I wasn't nearly so out of breath..._

Stan was still talking. “...from the mountain, or we'll get caught in the storm and I am not slogging through the forest in wet socks.” 

“Fine.” Ford moved to stand up. 

The world rocked sickeningly and he had the strangest sense that someone had stuck his head down a toilet and flushed. Then he was on the ground with cold rocks digging into his cheeks and Stanley shaking his shoulder. 

“Oi! Wake up already!” 

“I'm awake,” Ford said, pushing himself to a sitting position. He started to lean sideways and Stan caught him, looking worried. 

“Did you hit your head or something?” 

“I...” A sudden suspicion hit him and he looked down at his feet. He pulled his left foot towards him and little bolts of lightning shot into his kneecap, making him gasp. He drew back his pant leg. There was a nasty-looking puncture wound on his ankle: three tiny blood-red dots on a greenish bump of flesh laced with yellow veins. 

“What the heck, Ford?!” 

“A helicopperhead,” Ford said faintly. “One must've bitten me on the way down to the lair.” 

“You stupid nerds and your stupid supernatural weirdness!” Stan muttered, bending to get a closer look. Anxiety was written all over his face. “Geez, this already looks bad. Tell me this stuff isn't fatal.” 

“No, no...” Ford moved to roll down his pant leg but nausea made him sit back again. “We need to get back to the Shack, I have all the necessary ingredients for an antidote.” 

“We _need_ to find shelter before the storm hits.” Stan held out a hand and a few raindrops landed on his rough palm. “Look at this, it's already raining. This side of the mountain gets landslides all the time, remember? You even wrote about it in your third journal. The lumber guy. No way that's gonna be us, I like my eyeballs alive and non-ghosty.”

Waves of dizziness throbbed in Ford's skull, making it difficult to think. “I'm open to suggestions,” he gasped. 

“Good. 'Cuz we're not going down, we're going _up._ ” 

 

Stan grabbed an outcropping of rock for balance and pulled his brother up another step. He'd seen a cave near the top of the mountain, and he figured that would be the best place to wait out the storm. 

Ford groaned. Stan had his brother pressed to Stan's left side, his arm wrapped around Ford's waist. He'd wanted to be on Ford's other side, by his injured ankle, but the stupid thing was now so sensitive that even the weeds brushing against their legs made him wince and shudder. 

“Sixer? You with me?” 

“I'm fine, Stanley.” 

“Okay yeah, but that's your I've-stayed-up-for-three-days-straight-without-eating voice.”

“I don't have a –” He broke off and Stan looked over at him. His face was pale and he was sweating. 

“C'mon, bro, I saw a cave right up ahead. We can make it there and wait out the storm, get that foot elevated. You _sure_ it's not fatal?” 

“I'm...fine, Stanley...”

“That is not reassuring.” 

The rain was falling in earnest now, and Stan had to plant his feet carefully to keep from slipping back on the muddy parts or from loosing his footing on a slick boulder. Ford seemed to fade in and out of consciousness, letting out a harsh gasp any time his foot brushed so much as a pebble. 

“Hang on, Ford,” Stan grunted. “Cave's right up ahead. Like 20 feet away. Maybe 25. Let's call it 20. You better wake up or I will sic a rock pun on you, you know you hate dealin' with that schist.”

Ford groaned again. 

They reached the cave a few minutes later. By then Stan was practically dragging his brother along, and Ford's hand on Stan's shoulder felt cold and clammy. Although that could've just been from the rain. He was really hoping it was the rain. 

He eased Ford down about three feet from the cave's opening, out of the way of the wind and weather. Ford gave a silent hiss as his legs touched the ground, closing his eyes. 

“That bad?” 

“What...? No, I'm –”

“If you end that sentence with 'fine' I'm gonna punch you in the face,” Stan threatened. “C'mon, get the first aid kit outta the bag, we gotta treat the puncture.” 

Stan moved to his brother's leg and tried not to groan. The foot, ankle, all the way up to Ford's knee, had swollen so badly that his pant leg was gonna bust a seam any second. He slipped a pocketknife out of his jacket and began carefully cutting the fabric. 

Instantly Ford let out a loud hiss. 

“Sorry, Sixer. Just get...oh.” He looked up to see Ford scrabbling at the zipper on his pack, but he'd lost all coordination in his fingers, like they'd turned to sticks of wood. “Never mind, I got it.” 

Ford sat back carefully, shivering and closing his eyes again. “I've never...seen a nest that big...”

“Yeah?” Stan didn't really want to talk weirdness, but he wanted his brother unconscious even less. He took the first-aid kit out of the pack and started preparing the materials. “What were those things called again? Copper-choppers?” 

“Heli...helicopperheads.” He half-smiled, still with his eyes closed. “Although copper-chopper would _AGGH!_ ” 

“I'm done, I'm done!” Stan flung the alcohol swab away. “Just gonna tie it OH SWEET MOSES!” 

A huge, black form rose from the deepest shadows of the cave. There was a low, dangerous growl, and the funk of animal musk and broken bones invaded the air. 

“ _Who dares to enter my cave?_ ” 

Stan leaped to his feet. “Sixer-where's-your-nerd-gun?!” 

“At the...Shack...” 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” He grabbed the pack and brandished it. “Alright you freak of nature, I'm claiming squatter's rights, so unless you want to get sued from here to Arizona –”

“ _Stanford?_ ” 

“What?” 

The thing lumbered out of the shadows. Stan jumped back with a shout. 

It was a bear, without question, but it reminded Stan very strongly of Octavia the Mutant Cow. Maybe it was the five or six other heads sprouting from its shoulders, guts, and back. 

“I-I thought bears hibernated in the winter! Go do that! You should definitely go hibernate!” 

The bear frowned. “Only two of my heads do that. And it's just the end of summer.” 

“Whatever!” 

Ford slitted an eye open. “Chandler?” 

Three of the bear's heads perked up. “Stanford, it is you! How many years has it been? Have you heard the new Baba CD? I'm assuming you haven't lost your taste for girly pop culture music!” 

Stan scowled. “Juicy blackmail information aside, how's about you take that side of the cave, and we take this side, alright? And by the way I lost a bet and drank my weight in Mabel Juice, so don't even _think_ about eating me unless you want to hallucinate for a week straight!” 

The bear huffed indignantly. “I'm not going to eat you, I've gone vegan! Had to control my cholesterol. And what are you doing in my...” Two of his shoulder heads started sniffing, and the bear looked directly at Ford's wound, which had darkened to an ugly mottled red. “...Ooooh, you ran into the copper-choppers.” 

“ _Thank_ you,” Stan said. “It's – it's not fatal, right?” 

“I wouldn't know. My fur is too thick for them to bite through.” 

“Great.” 

He turned back to Ford – but his brother had slumped over, eyes shut, sweat pouring down his face. His hands were limp at his sides and his breathing rasped in his chest. 

“ _FORD!_ ” Stan dove down and gripped his brother's shoulders, shaking him gently. “Sixer, wake up, I'm serious!” He grabbed one of Ford's wrists with one hand and put the other on his brother's forehead. His hands were as cold as ice but his forehead felt like a hot metal slide in the middle of summer. He didn't react at all. 

The bear poked its head over Stan's shoulder. “He doesn't look –”

“GAH!” He punched it on reflex. 

The bear reared back, eyes watering, holding its nose. “OW! As I was _saying_ , he doesn't look very good. Perhaps instead of punching me you could lean him against me as I lie down.” 

“No, no, we gotta get him to a hospital. I'm such a knucklehead, I should've just –”

A low rumble vibrated up through the floor of the cave, shaking droplets of condensation (and a few bats) from the ceiling. 

“...the heck was _that?_ ” 

“A landslide. I'm afraid you and Stanford will need to spend the night here.” He slipped one massive paw under Ford, picked him up, and lay down against the rocky wall, cradling Ford in a reclined position against his stomach. Stan had to admit that the shaggy fur made it look pretty comfortable. 

Ford didn't so much as stir. Stan knelt next to him and took his hand again. The pulse hard to find, partly because Stan's hands were shaking, but it was there. He swallowed hard. _It'll be fine. Pines men are tough. It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine..._

The bear peered at him. “Are you two, er...” 

“Twins.” 

“Ah. That would explain it.” 

Stan barely heard him. “Explain what?” 

The bear settled himself, curling around the two brothers. “The smell. When I first caught a whiff of you, I thought it was odd that both of you smelled like the sea.” 

 

The night did not go well. 

The bear stayed awake for a while, sniffing over Stanford's unresponsive form, trying to offer assurances to Stan (who asked him uncomfortable questions about his heads until the bear finally left him alone). Finally the bear fell into a heavy sleep, snoring through his many snouts. 

Then it was just the Stan, the storm, and the fear that his brother might not ever wake up. 

Ford's fever rose, and kept rising for the next couple of hours. At one point Stan took off his jacket, very carefully picked up his brother, and walked out to the lip of the cave, shivering while he stood in the icy wet. He kept Ford's hands tucked between their bodies to keep his extremities warm. Any thought of getting down the mountain ended right there: it was so dark Stan could barely see his brother's pale face, just a few inches from his own, and even as he stood there he could feel the vibrations of more landslides. For better or worse, they were trapped up here. Stan held his brother even more tightly against his chest, watching his brother's face, the tightness around his eyes, the way the rain ran down his cheeks like tears. 

After what felt like an eternity he brought his brother back inside and dried the two of them off with his jacket as best he could. They were both shivering, but to his relief, Ford's fever had finally broken. 

That was when the night terrors started. 

Ford started twitching and muttering under his breath, weird words Stan couldn't make out. Stan called to him, wiped cold sweat from his face, grabbed his hands and squeezed. Nothing helped. He got louder, but no less coherent, just disjointed words and phrases. Then his eyes fluttered and the muttering changed. 

“Stop it,” Ford gasped, whispered, groaned, over and over. “Stop it, stop it, it's burning, it's burning, stop, stop, stop...”

Stan had a nasty feeling he knew what Ford's nightmares were about. 

Finally Stan flipped his brother over onto his stomach and started rubbing at his back, they way they'd done when they were teenagers and one of them had strained something working on their boat. He was afraid it would make it harder for Ford to breathe – he could hear Ford's chest rattle with every breath, and now his head was pressed to one side against the floor. But it seemed to work. His brother calmed, shivering now and then, as his muscles warmed and relaxed. Finally he quieted and dropped into a sleep almost as deep as the bear's. 

Stan propped him carefully back up against the shaggy mound of fur, praying that this was a good thing. At least his brother didn't look like he was having any more nightmares. And sleep was definitely a good thing, right? It wasn't like this was some kind of irreversible coma. His brother was just...finally getting some rest, that was all. Besides, Ford had said that the poison wasn't fatal, and his brother was a (stupid) genius, so he knew what he was talking about. Probably.

“It's okay, Sixer,” Stan said quietly. “Sleep as much as you want. I'll be right here when you wake up.”

He held his brother's hand tightly for the rest of the night. 

 

Ford was numb. 

He couldn't tell where his body was. Or if he even still _had_ one. He couldn't feel, hear, touch, smell, or see. There was no sensation of weight, either. He was just consciousness drifting in the black. 

Then he remembered the hike, getting bitten. The next part wasn't as clear, but hadn't Stanley led him up the mountain? But if all he could see was black, then perhaps he'd tripped and – 

His body suddenly assumed he was falling and jerked. 

Pain flooded his senses, red-hot needles stabbing up his left leg and into his abdomen. He broke out in a cold sweat and dry-heaved, trying to catch his breath and swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. His head pounded so hard he could feel it into his eyes – there was a wetness on his face – his eyes were bleeding – 

“ _Sixer!_ ” 

The voice came from far away. For a split-second Ford thought it was Bill and tensed, adrenaline shooting through his veins like acid. Then the voice came back and something pressed against his mouth. 

“C'mon, you're okay, just calm down and drink something. You've been sweatin' more than Waddles and you need the water.” 

He drank. It was Stanley, of course. And a canteen from their packs. He willed himself to calm down, focusing on his intellect. After a minute the water was taken away and he forced his eyes open. 

Everything was blurry, even though he could feel his glasses on his face, and purple spots flickered and fuzzed in his vision. He could make out Stanley in front of him, though, a pale blob sort of swimming through the darkness. 

He tried to talk. His neck muscles felt stiff and painful, and when he did manage to speak the sound made his ears throb. “Stan...where are...”

“The cave. I saw it earlier, remember? Turns out it was the home of this like, Octo-bear thing...” 

“Multi-bear,” Ford managed. He coughed, hard, and felt his head thump against a soft warm furry thing. Chandler, it had to be. He vaguely remembered seeing his old friend before passing out. 

“Whatever. And before you ask, I am _not_ taking off your pants.” 

He sputtered. “What?” 

“You, um...you were sleeping for a few hours, but a while ago you started muttering in your sleep.” 

“I did?” 

“Yeah. Mostly saying you were too hot, you had to make it stop, or you were gonna burn up. A couple of times you tried to take your clothes off. That part was probably just a reaction to the fever, but, uh...there was also some stuff about Bill in there...” 

Ford's head spun. He closed his eyes. 

“Whoa, hey, no – stay awake, Sixer, please!” 

“I'm alright,” Ford managed, catching one hand around Stan's wrist. His brother held on tightly. “I think that was the worst of it...” 

“Hang on, just hold still.” 

A moment later Ford felt something cool and damp splat across his forehead. He snorted. “Excellent bedside manner, Stanley.” 

“Hey, _you_ try nursing a nerdbot you think might really –” His voice broke off. 

“Stanley?” 

“A-anyway. It's nearly morning and the rain's let up. Also I found the weird bear's collection of Baba CD's, and I'm gonna hold 'em hostage until he gives us a ride off the mountain and straight to the nearest hospital. I changed the bandage on that puncture wound an hour ago and it looks infected.” 

Ford groaned and tried to sit up. He almost made it but canted badly to one side. Stan's firm grip caught him before he could hit the floor. 

“I'm serious, take it easy. You –” He broke off in a sudden coughing fit and groaned, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“You're not doing so well, yourself,” Ford said, a bit worried. 

“Yeah, well, standing in the rain and getting drenched for an hour'll do that to you. 'S only way I could think to get your fever down.” 

“You stood in the rain?” 

“For an hour.” Stan saw Ford staring and gave him a light swat on the head. “Tell you what, you can lecture me for doin' that once we get your leg looked at.” 

“That not it.” He looked up at his brother. “Stanley...I –”

There was a sudden loud rumble, a vibration through the cave so powerful it made Ford's teeth rattle. 

“What the –”

The cave entrance was suddenly blocked by an enormous deep-green eyeball. 

“AAAAH!” Stan leaped to his feet. “WHAT THE F–”

“ _HI, GRUNKLE STAN!_ ” 

They both gave a start, and even the multibear woke up, blinking its many eyes sleepily. 

“Izzat another twin...?” 

The giant eye drew back and daylight poured in, fresh and bright from an azure sky. A huge hand appeared at the edge of the cave, with skin so calloused it looked like tree bark, holding a pink-sweatered girl with a megaphone and a huge smile on her face. “Man, did you guys have us worried sick! But it looks like you were just off playing Disney Princess with the bear thing from Weirdmaggedon!” 

Stan sputtered wordlessly, but Ford grabbed Stan's shoulder and pulled himself a little more upright. “Mabel, is that – is that Steve?” 

“Sure is!” She turned and shouted through the microphone. “HEY STEVE! COULD YOU LOWER DIPPER DOWN TOO, PLEASE!” 

“ _Yaaaaaaah,_ ” Steve said.

Ford gaped. “Steve can _talk?_ ” 

“To quote one of my all-time favorite movies, 'He can't say a lot of words yet, but he understands things pretty good!'”

“Meaning he knows all the words to the _Twinkle Heart_ theme song,” Dipper said, appearing next to Mabel. “C'mon, let's – oh, wow, what _happened_?” 

Ford glanced at his leg; Dipper had obviously caught sight of the bandage. “Just a scratch, my boy.” 

“Yeah, and Weirdmaggedon was just funky weather,” Stan said drily. “Hey kids, think your pet tree freak can get us to the hospital? And maybe stay there and intimidate them into not charging us money?” 

“You better believe it!” Mabel said cheerfully. “C'mon, Dipper, let's carry Grunkle Ford over to Steve and then we can rifle through his nerd stuff while he's immobile!” 

“That's my girl!” 

“Excuse me,” Ford said indignantly, as their niece and nephew approached. Dipper nodded to Chandler. 

“Hey, man. Thanks for helping my grunkles out.” 

“It was my pleasure, warrior.” 

Ford blinked. “Do you two know each other?” 

“I sort of almost killed him once,” Dipper said, hoisting Ford's pack onto his back and grabbing Ford under the arm. “Can you stand up?” 

His family and Chandler carefully pushed him to a standing position, where he wobbled until Stan grabbed him. Ford leaned heavily on his brother, wincing; his leg was still extremely painful, and he couldn't put any weight on it. 

“ _Maaaaaay_ ,” said Steve. 

“WE'RE COMING, STEVE!” Mabel said. “I'ma go ahead and give him directions!” She hurried for Steve's fingers. Dipper took Ford's free hand and put it on his shoulder, supporting him while Dipper chatted with the multibear. 

“Careful,” Stan muttered, as they moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave. 

Ford glanced at him. “Stanley, I...” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For being there.” 

Stan stared at him. “Did you just –”

“C'MON, GUYS!” Mabel yelled at them through the megaphone. “I WANNA SEE IF WE CAN GET FORD A BRIGHT PINK CAST WITH FLOWERS ON IT!” 

Ford reached Steve's fingers and clambered awkwardly onto his palm. They waved good-bye to Chandler as the tree giant carried them away, Stan's arm tightly around his waist the whole time, Ford's arm holding just as tightly to his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> *deep inhale*
> 
> FLUUUUUUUUUUFF (at the end anyway XD)
> 
> This was a secret santa for PurplePumpkin, and the prompt was Stan/Ford/Mabel with a theme of Hurt/Comfort. I hope I pulled it off okay! _SUFFER THE ANGST, DEAR READERS. SUFFERRRRRR._


End file.
